


Some Kind of Okay

by Sincestiel



Series: Soulless Sam One Shots [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Angst, Extremely Dubious Consent, First Kiss, First Time, M/M, No Underage Sex, Rape/Non-con Elements, Rimming, Sibling Incest, Soulless Sam Winchester, Wincest - Freeform, mentions of underage sexuality
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-26
Updated: 2016-08-26
Packaged: 2018-08-11 04:37:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,115
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7876774
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sincestiel/pseuds/Sincestiel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Consciousness comes back to Dean very slowly.  The first thing he notices is that his mouth is dry and his throat sticks together when he tries to swallow.  But before he even opens his eyes, he takes stock of his body.  Aside from not being able to move his arms and legs, everything seems to be in working order.  So that's good at least</p>
            </blockquote>





	Some Kind of Okay

**Author's Note:**

> A couple people wanted the other version of [Before and After](http://archiveofourown.org/works/7859464). So here it is. Some parts are literally identical. The concept is extremely similar. But this one contains NonCon/DubCon. So it's darker. And possibly triggering. Please be safe and careful and proceed with caution.

Consciousness comes back to Dean very slowly. The first thing he notices is that his mouth is dry and his throat sticks together when he tries to swallow. But before he even opens his eyes, he takes stock of his body. Aside from not being able to move his arms and legs, everything seems to be in working order. So that's good at least. Once he figures out how to get out of the… _ropes_ , he thinks, twisting his wrists and feeling the burn, he'll be able to fight his way out of whatever situation he's in.

Finally, he cracks one eye open, just a little, not wanting to alert his captor yet that he's awake. The plan fails miserably because apparently his captor is Sam. And he's been watched closely. Just lovely.

"Rise and shine, Sleeping Beauty," Sam says and his voice is off a little. That's nothing new though. Sam has been off for months now. Which is why Dean has to get his soul back. And soon. But that's probably why he's tied up. Sam doesn't want it back. Even better. Tied down on a bed in some dingy motel room and held hostage by his soulless brother. Does life get any more craptastic than this? But he doesn't answer that, even to himself, because at least they're both alive right now.

Already caught out, Dean opens both eyes and shakes his head at his little brother sitting in the chair across from him, "Just tell me you didn't hurt Bobby. Please."

"Nope," Sam replies, "Not a hair on his old, grey head. Knew you'd be less cooperative if I did."

Dean breathes a sigh of relief and moves on to the next point of business, "So what, you're gonna kill me? Don't even have the decency to do it while I'm out?"

Sam laughs, scoots his chair closer, and holds out a glass of water, "I would imagine you're thirsty. Chloroform will do that to you. And you've been out for several hours."

Dean thinks about denying the offer, suspicious that maybe Sam's put something in it. But a bead of condensation rolls off the glass and soaks into the pad of Sam's thumb. Yeah. He's really thirsty. And besides, maybe this is his opportunity.

"Yeah, actually, I am."

Sam doesn't untie him. Not even one hand, which is a huge disappointment. But he stands and leans over, cupping the back of Dean's head and lifting. And then little sips of the ice cold water are being poured into his mouth. It's so good it dampens some of his aggravation at not being untied.

When he's downed about half of the glass, Sam pulls it away and sets it on the nightstand. And then he takes up his place in his chair again, but moves even closer, so that he's positioned right by Dean's side.

For a long time, he doesn't say anything and Dean is just on the verge of goading him, because the sooner he finds out what Sam wants, the sooner he can figure out how best to get out of this situation. 

But then Sam reaches out to fiddle with the hem of Dean's shirt, and he speaks, "I've always liked you in flannel. Think it makes you look rugged and manly."

Dean opens his mouth to respond, but he's not really sure what to say to that. What does his shirt have to do with whatever motivated his brother to kidnap him and restrain him?

"Same reason I like your stubble. And your cologne. And your bowlegs and boots. Everything, really. Everything about you, Dean. And it's a little different now, because before that was mixed in with love and devotion. Those feelings that kept me from acting. The fact that you're my brother. But, I just find I'm not all too concerned about that anymore. But the need is still there. Eats me up all the time. I thought we'd have time to do this slowly, honestly. Which is why I haven't made a move yet. But now you're all gung ho about souling me up. And once that happens, all the shit that kept me from doing this before will be back. Maybe even stronger."

Dean is utterly confused. What exactly does Sam mean to do? Because it can't possibly be what Dean thinks it is. Not that. No way. Those mixed up and wrong feelings are _his_ , not Sammy's.

"Come on, Sam. I'm really fucking lost here. What is it you want? Think you can threaten me into not putting your soul back? Because if so, you're doing a lousy job of it."

Sam laughs again, but it sounds defeated, which is kind of hilarious since Dean is the one who's tied up.

"I know how you work, Dean. No matter what I do, you'll succeed. I'm still going to go down swinging, but I've already accepted the loss. No, what I want is something I won't get any other way. It has to be like this, because once I've got my soul back I won't be man enough to take it."

Sam's fingers dip just under Dean's shirt, running lightly along the skin above Dean's waistband and now there's no doubt where this is going. Part of him wants to just let Sam do it. Whatever it is he wants because right now, the blame can't fall on Dean. He's tied up. At Sam's mercy. But then he thinks about how Sam will react later, when he's got his soul back. And if Dean lets this happen, Sam will never forgive himself. So he has to stop it.

But the determined look Sam gives him when their eyes meet is enough for Dean to know that unless he can get free, there's not going to be any stopping anything.

"First time I jerked off was to you. First time I fingered myself too. First time I kissed someone I thought about you. It all comes back to you, Dean. Always. And even now, even without feeling all of our history and all the love so fully, I still think about you. Still want you. And without blinders, I can see you want it too. Wouldn't ever give in. No, gotta protect little Sammy, especially from yourself. But you want this. So I'm going to make sure we both get it. At least once."

Dean's going to say something. He is. Talk Sam into freeing one of his arms, even if he has to pretend he's onboard for this. But then Sam stands and starts unbuttoning his shirt. And Dean wants to look, drink in all the muscles lining his little brother’s body. Admire all the nooks and crannies he's wanted to taste and touch for entirely too long. But he makes himself close his eyes and turn his head away. If Sam isn't offering this freely – and Dean is not fooled, without his soul, there's no way Sam can really consent to this – then Dean doesn't get to enjoy it.

"Don’t even wanna watch, Dean? You might as well look your fill. It's going to happen. And I think, when I get my soul back, it'll help to know that you wanted it. Because while I'm not too concerned about consent at the moment, I will be later. I'll spend hours, days, months, maybe even the rest of my life hating myself for doing this to you. For not giving you a choice. So look at me, Dean. Let me see how much you want this. Give me something to hold on to later."

"Not like this, Sammy. Please," Dean starts. And if he has to lay out all of his downright sinful thoughts and desires, he will. If he has to promise Sam to give in the moment he has his soul back, he will. But he doesn't want Sam to remember this and be disgusted. Or angry with himself, "Whatever you want when you're yourself again. But not like this, okay? You said it yourself, you know I'm going to succeed. So just wait. Otherwise-"

"No. Waiting will just give you time to think about it. And you'll find it so easy to justify going back on your promise. It has to be now. So just tell me what it is you want. We'll do this however you want it. Want me to ride you? Suck your cock? What is it you need, Dean? What do you want most from your little brother?"

Dean shouldn't. He should not play along. He should not be considering just giving in. Sam is going to hate himself _and_ Dean by the time this is over with though, because Dean turns his head back and gets his first glimpse of Sammy naked and hard. And he knows he's lost.

"Fuck me," Dean says, latching on to the first fantasy he can remember having about Sam. The most prominent one too, especially now that Sam's so big. So fucking strong. And Dean just wants Sam to pound him, hard and fast. 

Sam cocks an eyebrow and smirks, "Really? I would've thought you'd want it the other way around."

He does. He wants it all. But if he ever has Sam like that, he wants it to be _his_ Sammy. And completely consensual. He can let Sam take him like this, but not the other way around. Not with Sam not really here.

Dean doesn't reply, but he does swallow nervously when Sam leans over toward the nightstand and comes back with a knife. Sam must see it because he chuckles and then shakes his head.

"Gotta get your clothes open is all," He says, placing the knife in the center of Dean's shirt, right above his navel. He catches the material and then slides the blade upwards, separating Dean's undershirt so that it falls open along with his flannel.

"Oh wow," Sam breathes, already dropping the knife to the ground and climbing on the bed, "Never thought I'd have you like this, Dean. All bare for me. You're so…"

But he doesn't finish the sentence, and for that Dean is grateful. He doesn't want to hear what this Sam thinks of him. He only cares what his Sammy thinks of him.

The touch is barely there, almost no pressure, when Sam's fingertips trail up his chest, from his happy trail all the way to his sternum. But the simple action sets him on fire. Finally, Sam's hands on him just like he's always wanted. And that's when he makes a decision. One that will hopefully save Sam a lot of turmoil and give Dean masturbation fodder for years to come.

"What are you waiting for, Sam? I know you wanna kiss me."

Sam grins, shifting so that his front is pressed into Dean's side, and he's so hard Dean lets out a moan without even thinking about it.

"Not really. That's something your Sam wants. But if it'll help, I'll give it to you. Give you anything you want, Dean. Wish you'd just think about that for a minute. Wouldn't it be worth it? Just leave the soul where it is and you can have whatever you want whenever you want. With the soul I'm too much of a pussy. But like this? Like this you could have it all, Dean."

Dean doesn't get a chance to respond before Sam cups his face, turns his head, and brings their lips together. And this. God this. It's something he's wanted more than anything. More than every dirty thought he's ever had about Sam. Just this kiss. But it's wrong. Too careful but too careless at the same time. Sam's lips move slowly, trying to get it right, trying to kiss him like his Sammy would. But he's not putting enough into it. Doesn't have anything to give, Dean thinks. And suddenly he wishes he hadn't asked. Wishes he'd waited until Sam is right again. Whole. But still, Dean tries to give Sam something to remember. Something so that he knows Dean is okay with this. Or as okay as he can be given the circumstances.

When Sam pulls away, eyes searching Dean's, Dean says, "Can't have it all. Can't have what I really want unless you're you. Because this isn't just physical, Sam. It's so much more than that. And like this, that's just something you can't even begin to understand. My Sam? He'd have been more hesitant just now, sure, but for good reason. There's so much between us he'd be worried about fucking up. You just don't care about that shit. Kissing him would be so much sweeter because he does."

Sam rolls his eyes and then shrugs, "Fine, have it your way. Still gonna come for me, Dean."

Dean doesn't argue, because he has no doubt he will. Never had a problem coming for all the women he's fucked, even when it was his little brother he really wanted. So he'll come for this Sam even though his Sammy is the one he wants.

"Okay," Sam intones calmly as he mounts Dean's hips, sitting astride his body and kneading his chest through the opening in his shirts, "Here's how this is going to go down. I'm not untying your hands. But I can't get at that sweet ass with your legs restrained. So, you let me fuck you, and then you go free."

Dean knows it probably won't be that easy, but at this point he just wants this over with, so he nods and holds still when Sam leans back to take the rope off his ankles and then remove his jeans.

After that, it's kind of anticlimactic. Sam's good, even without the soul, no doubt. And he's strangely careful when his fingers press in, stretching Dean for his cock. But there's no fire there. None of the heart pounding, soul shattering _feeling_ he would have expected out of this. It's methodical. Almost clinical, and Dean has to turn his head, stare at the peeling wallpaper as Sam's fingers breach him over and over again.

When the tips of Sam's fingers brush over his prostate, it's just not what Dean had imagined. Oh, it feels good, he arches hard enough he couldn't possibly deny it. But it's like Sam's just doing it because he gets some sort of wicked satisfaction out of watching Dean writhe for him, not because he's really concerned for Dean's pleasure.

"Look at me, Dean. Watch."

Dean grits his teeth, turns his head, and meets his brother's eyes. This isn't Sammy. But soon enough he will be. And he's going to remember this. And, more importantly, he's going to remember how Dean reacted. If Dean doesn't play this right, he's setting Sam up for a whole lot of unnecessary guilt. And it does feel good, even if it's not how he wanted it. So he gives in, offers Sam a little moan and a wriggle of his hips.

"There you go, baby. That's it," Sam croons and Dean fights the urge to roll his eyes. For a man who's spent his whole life in that body, he sure doesn't know himself. Sammy would never say things like that. Too porny and artificial.

But Dean ignores it. Falls back on his favorite Sam memory. Sam at seventeen. Long legs, long arms, long hair. Everything so perfectly long. Tanned, gorgeous. Still looking up (down) at Dean like he's the most amazing thing he's ever seen. Hero worship and so much love. And they were laughing about something stupid. He can't even remember. But Sam's smile had been so wide and honest and his laugh had come from the pit of his stomach, so deep and beautiful. And Dean had fallen in love. Instantly and painfully. Bittersweet longing filling him so suddenly that he hadn't been able to even breathe. And he's felt like that ever since. Even now, with RoboSam looming over him, he still loves and he still wants.

"Harder, Sam. More." The desire in his voice, the way it wavers between a pleading whine and a desperate groan, is real. When his hips hitch, lifting himself up and then forcing himself back down onto Sam's hand, that's real too.

Sam's hand grips his thigh tighter, twists and then pushes. And now Dean's spread open, knees pushing into his chest and calves hanging over Sam's broad shoulders. He has a moment to consider pleading his case again, asking Sam to stop, as Sam works a condom (and Dean's not even sure where that came from) over his rigid length. But he decides against it. This is happening. And Dean doesn't really know if it's because Sam is that intent on it or if it's because Dean isn't trying all that hard. Doesn't matter. If he pleads it'll only make this worse later.

Then Sam is scooting closer, lining himself up and Dean catches his eye again, locks his gaze with Sam's as he's speared on his little brother's cock. There's something about it. Sam's eyes flash momentarily and Dean would swear, for a split second, he sees Sam's soul. But then he's invaded in one long, hard push and it hurts. Not just his body, but his heart. He was just dreaming. That's all. Seeing what he wants to see. Because this Sam isn't his Sam. There's too much pain for that.

But Dean's no virgin. Hasn't done it in a long time, but he knows how to take a cock. So he relaxes, rotates his hips just so, and struggles to keep air in his lungs. And by the time Sam is pulling out and then pushing back, the pain has lessened to a dull throb.

Sam grunts, leans forward, and uses his huge hand to tilt Dean's head back. And then warm lips are running over his neck, little nips of teeth and traces of tongue getting him hotter and harder by the second. Like this he can pretend. He can't see Sam's face, the weird _nothingness_ that's taken over in the last few months. And it feels good. Almost feels right. So he melts into it, gives his body up to Sam just like so many other things he's given over the years. No big deal. Sammy wants, Sammy gets. And if Dean gets to enjoy it in the process, well, so be it.

"Fuck, Sam. Like that. Just…"

Sam's hips speed up, little jolts that shake Dean's arms where they're tied above his head. And fuck he wishes he could touch. Wants to get his half asleep fingers all over the body above him. He thinks, if his hands were free, he could ensure Sam wouldn't regret this later. Wouldn't think he had taken advantage. But Dean doesn't have that freedom. Has to use his words instead.

"Wanted you so long, Sam. When you're all better, we're gonna do this all the time. Let you have me however you want. Whenever you want."

Sam groans, a little chuckle mixed in there somewhere that makes it sound almost sinister. But Dean keeps going. This isn't for this Sam anyway. It's for his Sammy. Something to help him later. So that he knows Dean's not a victim here. He's getting what he's always wanted.

"So hot, baby. Gorgeous. Can't hardly keep my hands off you. It's wrong. I know it is. But it's so hard to care, you know? Given so much, both of us. Always giving. And sometimes I just want to take. Wanna take you, Sam. Keep you. Love you so much."

His voice cracks on the last, but he thinks that's to be expected, because Sam's hitting him perfectly right now, on every thrust. His prostate's never gotten so much attention at once and he's barely holding on to his sanity. His cock is pulsing between them, dribbling precome all over their stomachs. He's so fucking close.

"Come on, Sam. Touch me, Sammy. Gotta… gonna… I need you, baby boy."

Sam's breath hitches and then he blows out hot over Dean's damp neck. That got him. And Dean fishes around quickly, tries to remember how long it's been since he's called Sam that. God. The kid was… fourteen?

"Like that, Sammy? Baby boy?"

"Fuck yeah," Sam answers even as he digs between them and, with a frustrated moan when he can't get his grip right in their position, then lifts up to wrap his fingers around Dean's dick.

Dean almost yelps at the sudden and very welcome pressure and Sam shivers, biting his lip and looking more like Sammy than he has any right to.

"I wanted you, Dean. Even back then, I-"

Dean shushes him, quickly. That's something his Sam can tell him, if he wants. This version of Sam has no right spilling those closely guarded secrets.

"Doesn't matter how long. It doesn't. Just make me come, Sam. Feels so good, baby boy. So fucking good. Make me come. Please."

Sam nods, hips still working relentlessly as he strips Dean's cock hard and fast, not letting up until Dean's spurting all over his chest and practically biting through his own lip to keep from screaming Sam's name.

And as soon as Dean's finished, the last aftershocks quaking through him, Sam leans over again, presses his mouth to Dean's as his rhythm falters. Their stomachs rub together wetly and Dean's cock protests the friction. But he just focuses on Sam, offers what little he can in the way of absolution.

"I want you to remember that I wanted this, Sammy. Want you to remember that I came for you. Hard and fast because you feel so good in me, baby. 'S not your fault, okay? I _wanted_ it."

All he gets in response is a soft grunt and the feel of his brother's cock pulsing inside of him, hands tightening on his thighs briefly, and then Sam's full weight bearing down on him.

For a few minutes they stay like that, panting and covered in come. And Dean almost forgets that his hands are tied, numb above his head. He tries to forget that Sam's soul, that part of him that makes him _him_ , isn't there. He closes his eyes and revels in the feel of Sam's body heat, his thrumming heart, and his soft breath blowing over Dean's nipple. It's good. It's going to be okay. Dean will make sure it is. No matter what.

***

It's weird at first. For the most part, for Sam, it's like he tripped and fell over the world's most dangerous hole and landed in Bobby's panic room. And he knows he's lost months of time. Knows his body was walking around without him but he just can't remember anything. He doesn't remember hell either though, so he thinks it's probably a fair trade.

But then it starts coming back to him in little snatches of dreams. And it's hard sometimes, to pick out what's a memory and what's just a typical dream for him. But he's getting it all back, little by little. And he really doesn't like it. At all. And every day he's more and more thankful for his brother's persistence.

His brother. There's another conundrum. Dean looks at him differently now. Like he's waiting for something and continually disappointed but also maybe a little relieved when Sam doesn't deliver. Or maybe he's just disappointed in general, because some of the things Sam did… He let his own brother, the person he loves above all others, get turned. He just stood by and watched. Fascinated even. Wanting it to happen not only because it was convenient but because he was curious. It makes him sick when he thinks about all of the people (children even) he allowed to be casualties. And it's like, sometimes they lose people. Sometimes it can't be helped, but they damn sure try. And Sam just didn't. So that's bad. Really bad. But the worst is seeing, over and over again, the betrayal in Dean's eyes after he was turned.

It takes Sam a while to get over that. And he never really manages to leave it behind completely, but he's able to push past it. It's like Stanford and the demon blood all over again. He just adds it to his pile of failures and leaves it to be dwelled on later. When he has more time. When the world's not ending, or at least not going to hell really quickly. So, he figures, he'll study them at length in, oh say… a millennia.

But Dean keeps looking at him like that. Keeps staring when he thinks Sam isn't paying attention. And Sam starts to get nervous. Because there are a _lot_ of things he could have said to Dean to upset him. A whole shitload of dirtybadwrong things he could have revealed. But he takes comfort in the fact that Dean doesn't seem repulsed. And surely, if any of _that_ had come to light, he would. Still though… something just isn't right. Not even by their standards, and that's saying a lot.

He corners Dean a few times but doesn't get much more than a shrug of his shoulders. He has no clue what Sam's talking about. Nothing's different. Dean's just keeping a close eye on him. Just making sure he's better. Being a good big brother. And every time he spouts one of those lies (or almost lies, because Sam is sure he really is concerned and watchful due to his recent reensoulment, but that's not all there is, Sam is positive) Sam wants to call him on it. But he doesn't because whatever it is, he'll get to the bottom of it quicker if he doesn't spook Dean. He'll just wait his own head out, until it coughs up the missing puzzle piece.

As it turns out, that happens very slowly. And the first time he dreams it, he's not even entirely sure it's real. 

Dean, stretched out and bound on a motel bed. A bed just like the ones they've slept in so many times over the years: ugly comforter, uglier wallpaper, dim lighting… so familiar, but distinctly different as well. Because there's a charge in the air that he's never felt before. A determination that frightens him deeply.

And then Dean's under him, his hands still tied, and Sam is… God. No. He's not. Can't be raping his brother. Except he is. And maybe it's just a dream. Has to be. He'd never. Not even without his soul. Hookers are one thing, but raping someone? His own brother at that? Never.

So he pushes it to the back of his mind. Tries to forget about it. Because if that were it, if Dean was looking at him oddly because of that, he wouldn't be so calm about it.

But the dream just keeps coming. Over and over again, more details emerging every time. There's no dialogue yet, even though he can see they're speaking. But he catches the way Dean's eye glaze over here and there. Sees the way Dean tries to keep his gaze averted. Notices that the longer it goes on, the longer Sam is _raping_ him, the more Dean seems to respond. And it's… too much.

That dream, that dream that can't possibly be a reality, hurts more than every other memory he's regained. It's a betrayal even more monstrous than allowing Dean to be harmed. Because, rather than standing idly by, he's the instigator. 

He tries not to dwell on it, but it plays on repeat almost every night. And Dean keeps looking at him like that. And he just needs to know.

When he finally finds the courage, they're sitting in another motel room. One that could be the brother of the one from the dream. Just like every other room they've shared. Doesn't mean anything. Doesn't mean it's real.

Sam glances over, for a moment just watching the play of light and shadow over Dean's features as an episode of _The Twilight Zone_ flickers on the old television across the room. Then Dean turns to look at him, one eyebrow raised in silent question.

"Did I… when I was soulless, did I…"

 _rape you?_ , Sam thinks but can't say. The words are too disgusting, too terrifying and they get stuck in his throat. But something changes on Dean's face, just the slightest flicker of understanding. As if he knows exactly what Sam was going to ask even though he didn't. And that's enough. Sam knows now, knows for sure, that it isn't just a dream.

"Oh god," he croaks out, hand flying up to his mouth, stomach churning violently.

"Sammy-" Dean starts, voice oddly reassuring, but Sam can't. He can't sit here and listen to another lecture from Dean about how none of it is his fault. Not when it comes to _that_. Not when he's about to lose his dinner.

He makes it to the toilet, but only just, and then he's heaving, his insides turning wrong side out and emptying everything into the bowl. Again and again and again. And then Dean's there, hovering just behind him and Sam tries to tell him to go away, but he gags again, nothing but stomach acid now, and Dean reaches down to brush his air off his face.

"Here, Sammy, lemme…"

Sam shakes his head no, but Dean isn't deterred. He pats Sam's forehead with a cool cloth and it feels good. He almost closes his eyes. Almost just allows Dean to take care of him, just like Dean's always done. But he can't. Doesn't deserve it, not after _that_. So he gets a weak grip on Dean's wrist and pushes.

"I got it, man. Just… go finish your show or something. I'll be out in a minute and we can…" _talk about it_ he wants to say. But that feels weak. Doesn't feel like enough.

"No. Not leaving you. I've been waiting for this, Sam. Knew it'd come back to you. And I knew you'd get all…" Dean flaps his hand around at Sam's haggard appearance and the dirty toilet bowl. "So just get a grip. Okay? It's not a big deal. Really. I wasn't lying to you then. I swear."

Sam's confusion must show on his face because Dean sighs and lowers himself to the floor next to Sam.

"When I said it wasn't your fault. When I said I… um… wanted it. You didn't-"

Dean stops, eyebrows furrowed as he rings the wet cloth in his hands. And in the silence, Sam hears the ghost of a whisper…

_I need you, baby boy._

And Sam shivers once uncontrollably. Had Dean said that? Had he really begged like that?

"You didn't rape me, Sam. I know that's what you're thinking. But you can't rape the willing. And I was…" A long pause, more maddening twisting of the cloth, and then Dean's eyes burning into him, willing Sam to see the truth, "Very willing, Sammy. It wasn't… wasn't what I would have imagined. Not like I wanted it to be. But trust me, I was not a victim."

_fuck me… I know you wanna kiss me… wanted you so long… let you have me however you want… remember that I wanted this… remember that I came for you…_

But it doesn't change anything. Even if Dean was telling the truth and not just trying to make Sam feel better about the situation, Sam still didn't give him a choice. He just… _took_. He took and Dean gave and isn't that always how it happens with them?

"Dean, fuck. I'm sorr-"

"Don't you say that. Don't even think it. I could have fought you. Could have gotten away or made it harder for you at least. I didn't. I didn't really want to. Now, get up and rinse your mouth."

Dean's tone of voice brooks no argument and Sam doesn't even try. He doesn't think he has the energy for it anyway.

But when Dean's hands find their way to his hips, guiding him up and toward the sink, Sam tries to shake him off. Dean just grips tighter, holds on like Sam might fly away if he doesn't. And he doesn't let go until Sam is easing down onto the bed. Then Dean's just standing there over him, indecision written all over his face.

"Did you mean it, Sammy?"

_never thought I'd have you like this… wanted you, even back then…_

It's painful, airing this for Dean to see, finally putting it out there. But he owes it to Dean. So he nods, drops his head almost to his chest so he doesn't have to look Dean in the eye, and starts scooting back on the bed. If only to get farther from Dean, give him some room.

But it would seem space is the last thing Dean wants, because he follows Sam onto the bed, puts himself right in the spot Sam's just vacated and reaches out.

"C'mere. Let's just… just… forget it for now, okay?"

Dean manages to tangle his fingers in the sleeve of Sam's shirt and then get a grasp on his shoulder and he's being pulled toward his brother. Dean is solid, his heartbeat and breathing slow and steady, and his side is warm when Sam settles against him.

"It doesn't have to be a thing, Sam. There's a lot over the years we could apologize to each other for, but let's not make this one of them."

"But Dean, I raped you. I did. And there's nothing you can say that makes that okay."

Sam hates how much he sounds like the kid he once was. Laying all of his troubles at his big brother's feet. Wanting Dean to make it all better and knowing he can't.

"You didn't. I asked for it, Sam. Wanted it. Still want-"

"Don't," Sam interrupts. He can't listen to that right now. Can't even think about doing that again. Not when he's ruined everything. It could have been great. Now, it's all scarred and twisted and so fucked up Sam's not sure they'll ever be able to get there. Where they belong.

"No. You want to see me as the victim here? Fine. I'm the victim. So I get to talk and you have to listen, got it?"

Sam nods and feels Dean’s eyes on him though he can’t bring himself to meet them. And for a minute, Dean just stares. And Sam waits.

"When you asked," Dean pauses and swallows, like it's hard for him to get the words out, "You asked what I wanted. And I couldn't, not with you like that, I couldn't do that. Couldn't fuck you with you not really there. _That_ would have been rape, Sam. What you did," Dean stops again, chuckles lightly and leans overs to press a kiss to the top of Sam's head, gentle like he only ever is when they're alone, "was fulfill a fantasy for me. That's all. Nothing more, nothing less. I used to think like that, you know? Thought if you would just crack and take it, I wouldn't have to carry the guilt around. It wouldn't be me making you or coercing you. It wouldn't be my fault."

Sam huffs and turns his face toward Dean, leaning down to press into Dean’s shoulder, his voice comes out muffled into Dean's shirt, "So it's my fault now, huh? That's what you wanted?"

Dean's hand comes up and his fingers card slowly through Sam's hair and Sam knows he's wearing his thinking face: jaw clenched, lips pursed, eyes a little squinty. And when he speaks, it's slowly and thoughtfully, something he only does when he's dead serious.

"No. Nobody's fault, Sammy. And if I was going to blame someone, I'd blame Dad." The admission shocks a gasp out of Sam and he tries to turn his head, look up at Dean. But Dean just holds on, keeps talking, lost in himself. "He put us here. Stuck us in rooms too small and cramped. Left us for days and weeks at a time with just each other. He set us up for this even if he didn't mean to. And, honestly, I'm okay with that. Wouldn't have it any other way, Sammy. We can't… this life isn't a family life. We can't have permanent relationships. A house. Kids. None of that. We've seen, firsthand, that it doesn't work. But we've got each other. We can have each other."

"But, Dean, that night, I… I fucked it all up. No matter what you say, that was not okay."

"You know what? You're right. Totally right. So you should make it up to me."

Sam winces. It hurts to hear Dean say that. Part of him had hoped Dean would keep arguing. But he knows it's the truth. And he'll do whatever it takes. Whatever Dean wants.

"And I think I know how you can do that."

Nodding, Sam pulls himself free of the hand tangled in his hair and sits up straight, looking Dean in the eye and waiting for his sentence.

"Kiss me."

Like it's that simple. Like Sam can heal all the wounds he's inflicted with his lips alone. Like he deserves such an enjoyable punishment.

"No, that's not-"

"That's exactly what I want. It's the only thing I want. And it's all I've been able to think about since, what it would be like to kiss you. The real you."

Sam considers trying to argue again, but Dean’s face is solemn and his eyes are pleading. And Sam wants this even if he doesn’t deserve it. And he remembers… fuck. All of it. The way Dean quivered and came for him. How honest Dean sounded when he said he wanted it. The heat in Dean’s eyes when he’d asked Sam to fuck him. Sam would have taken either way, but Dean just surrendered. So prettily and easily.

And fuck if his cock isn’t stirring in his jeans. Dean must see something in his eyes because, without provocation, his gaze drops to Sam’s crotch and _he licks his goddamn lips._ And when his eyes shift up to Sam’s again, they’re hungry. That same look he gave Sam that night only multiplied by a million.

“C’mon, Sammy. Whatever you want. Just like I promised.”

But even as Sam’s moving in, preparing to take Dean’s mouth like Dean obviously wants, he’s shaking his head, “No. Whatever you want, Dean. Gotta be your choice this time, beginning to end.”

When their lips touch, Dean lets out an honest to god whimper. And Sam answers with a groan and his tongue swirling out over Dean’s plush lips. He hovers there, hands on either side of Dean’s torso, his body just above Dean’s, the only point of contact being their mouths. And for several seconds, Dean lets him get away with it. 

Dean sucks Sam’s tongue into his mouth for a moment and then offers Sam his own. And it’s back and forth, playful little flicks and deep fucks. Breathy moans and needy whines. And then Dean’s hands, shoving suddenly under Sam’s shirt, skin on skin and Sam shivers as Dean’s palms slide over his sides.

Their faces shift and Sam ends up mouthing at Dean’s salty skin, leaving gentle nips over Dean’s neck, as Dean works Sam’s shirt up, tracing every rib with eager fingertips.

“Didn’t get to touch the first time,” Dean offers like an apology for his roaming hands. And it sounds like an honest loss, like he’s been thinking about it all this time. Like that’s his only real regret. So Sam lets him. Just holds himself up and allows Dean to map his chest and stomach with jittery fingers.

“So hot, Sammy. Always so warm, baby boy,” And Sam kind of loses it there. His elbows give out and he falls onto Dean’s body with a shudder. Dean’s cock is hard against his lower stomach, already straining valiantly against the denim it’s trapped behind and Sam remembers how it felt in his hand, throbbing and spurting and without even realizing it, he’s rutting into Dean’s thigh, pushing his dick forcefully against Dean, seeking as much friction as he can get.

“You gonna come like that, Sam? Hump my leg and come in your pants? Or are you gonna fuck me again? Want you in me, Sammy. Felt so good, baby.”

Dean’s fingernails scratch from where they’ve ended up at the top of Sam’s back all the way down to the waist band of his jeans. Hard. And it makes something in Sam snap. Something base and animalistic. The growl that emanates from his throat sounds foreign and strange, but Dean just whines, “Yeah, that’s it, Sammy.”

All Sam can think about is getting Dean naked and open so he can drive his cock home. And the way Dean’s writhing for him, whimpering and clawing at Sam’s clothes like he’s aching for the same thing only spurs Sam on. Sam lifts up, and he’s battling Dean’s fly before he really has time to think.

But once his brain gets started, he can’t really stop. This is not what they should be doing. This is what Sam did last time. Didn’t really give Dean much of a choice. Just went after what he wanted with single minded determination and no real thought for Dean’s wants or needs. And while it seems like Dean’s totally on board with this, he could also just be trying to make Sam feel better about it all. 

“Shit,” Sam curses and pulls his hands away before he’s got Dean’s jeans all the way open. Dean grabs at him frantically, trying to keep Sam in place and get Sam’s hands back to their task.

“No. None of that. No stopping. Come on, Sammy. Please.”

He does sound desperate. Like he really wants this. And it’s so hard for Sam not to just give in. But he doesn’t. And when Dean realizes Sam really means to pull away, Dean doesn’t stop him.

“What? What’s wrong?”

Sam sits back on his heels, rubs at his face, pushes his hair back, and tries to focus on Dean’s face and not the obvious, needy bulge trying to fight its way out of a half opened fly.

“This. This is wrong. I’m sorry, Dean but I just can’t… It’s just all wrong.”

Dean rolls his eyes and sighs, as if Sam is just being a huge baby and making mountains out of molehills and Sam just wants to shout. Fuck. This is not something they can just brush aside. It’s huge. Not just the incest part of it, but Sam _raped_ his brother and that is not something they can just walk away from unscathed.

“Okay,” Dean says, and he sounds resigned, “What can we do to make it better for you? What do you need?”

And there’s that big brother voice again. The one that says Dean’s only goal in life is to make sure Sam is cared for, that Sam is comfortable and Sam has what he needs. But can’t Dean fucking see?

“No, god, Dean. Stop that. You always do that shit. This isn’t about me. It’s about you.”

“Oh hell no,” Dean answers and now he’s wearing his cut the shit expression and his hands find their way to Sam’s thighs, holding tight, “This sure as fuck isn’t about me. Because I keep telling you I’m fine. And it’s not because I’m pretending or because I just don’t want you to know how I feel or whatever it is you’ve convinced yourself, Sammy. I’m fucking golden.”

“But I-“

“Yeah, I know. I was there. It was, while not ideal for the first go ‘round, great. In fact, I wouldn’t mind doing it again sometime. Maybe without being drugged. And, of course, with your soul intact. But, anytime you want to tie me up and fuck me into the bed, I’m on board. Right now, I just want…” And then Sam gets Dean’s emotionally constipated look and he’s surprised when Dean plows through, “I just want to be close to you, man. That’s all. However it works best for you. Or whatever. We don’t even have to – we can just go to sleep if you want. Or watch TV.”

Dean sounds so hopeful and so earnest and Sam knows that, despite the erection which hasn’t flagged in the slightest, that Dean would accept nothing more than a cuddle – though he’d never use that word – if that’s all Sam offered. And what Sam doesn’t hear, what he hasn’t heard this whole time, is any indication that Dean is as upset about this as Sam is. Or even bothered at all past how concerned he seems to be that Sam is okay. And that’s what helps Sam decide.

“Maybe you could… instead of me, I mean, you,” Sam waves his hand around, hoping Dean will understand what he means and the glint that twinkles in Dean’s eye says he understands exactly. But of course, he’s Dean, so he doesn’t make it easy on Sam.

“Oh come on. If you can’t say it, you’re not old enough to be doing it.” But the way Dean bites his lip tells Sam that he doesn’t intend to deny Sam based on his vocabulary or lack thereof. Still though. Just because Sam wants to see the reaction.

“I want you to fuck me, Dean,” Sam leans down to whisper in Dean’s ear, one hand making its way back to Dean’s crotch, “I want you to bury your cock so deep in me that I feel it for _days_.”

The full body shudder he feels from the body under him is worth the slight heat the words bring to his face.

“I think that can be arranged,” Dean almost whines, his hips pressing up as Sam’s hand pushes down.

And Dean arranges it just perfectly. He opens Sam slowly and sweetly with tongue and spit slowly giving way to fingers and lube. He preps Sam gently but unrelentingly while teasing Sam’s hard, leaking cock with his cheek and then his lips and his fucking scorching breath exhaled repeatedly over the tip. And Sam feels like his body is on fire and all of his nerve endings are frayed and sparking by the time Dean hovers above him, pressing in with care but determination. 

And now Sam knows something he’s always wondered. He knows what all those women who’ve spent time under his brother felt. Because godfuckingdamn it’s the greatest thing he’s ever experienced. A new religion.

And he must say so out loud because Dean releases a half chuckle half moan and then whimpers out, “Not the same, Sammy. None of them ever really mattered. Not like you do.”

Sam groans and shivers, grips Dean closer to him and presses an openmouthed kiss to his older brother’s bicep. Tries to convey with his body and his mouth just how much he understands. And that he feels the same. No one has ever mattered quite like Dean does.

***

Later, after Sam has been well and truly fucked out and they’ve showered and found their way back to the clean bed, Dean pulls Sam into his chest in what Sam thinks is a hug. Until it doesn’t end. And then he realizes that Dean is actually cuddling him. And while, earlier, he knew that was a possibility, it felt possible like winning the lottery feels possible. Now though…

“Dude,” Sam says, “Are we actually cuddling? Is this happening right now?”

Dean tries to extricate himself, but Sam has accounted for that probable reaction and he’s clinging to the arms wrapped around him, holding the front of Dean’s body tightly to the back of his own.

“Not complaining,” Sam says softly, loosening his death hold on Dean’s arms when Dean starts to relax.

He expects some witty insult or a snippy retort of some kind, but neither is forthcoming and Dean doesn’t let go. And then Sam isn’t sure what to do or say. Because all of this is too much. What happened before and this now and he’s not really positive where they stand. Maybe they should be talking about all this.

“Stop thinking,” Dean mutters, scooting even closer to Sam’s back, burying his face in the hairs resting on the nape of Sam’s neck, “We’re okay, Sammy. Just fine.”

And Sam’s not sure that’s true. But he is sure that he’s not trading Dean’s arms around him for anything in the world. So the talking can wait. And they might not be okay and fine now. But they’ll get there. They’ll find their own brand of okay. They always do.

**Author's Note:**

> I think I've managed one a day for the last few days. But this weekend is my birthday. So Operation: Clean PC of Embarrassingly Old Writings is probably on hold until Monday. Probably. Idk. We'll see.


End file.
